Dresden is Warmer than Moscow
by Anthropophagite
Summary: A 100-Prompt Challenge following a very out-of-place Library Stalker, living in Polis and trying to etch a living. -In terms of canon appearances, Bourbon is going to be a constant, possibly Melnik/Miller as well. Other canons will come and go-
1. 001 Dance

She arrives home with one thing in mind; return to her apartment and sleep for a week. But she knows she can't, not yet. There is still one last thing to do, and the Brahmin can wait for a little while longer.

Dropping bags and equipment to their designated corner, she dresses down just enough to be comfy. It's hard to be such in the chill tunnels, but out of the heavy Stalker gear is still more preferable to in it, even if she does enjoy the job and is good at it. Out of the gear also makes it easier to accept the man she left behind, the one who comes streaking across the station platform with tail wagging and ears laid back in the typical gesture of happy dogs as she exits the apartment.

Papa Boris received news of her return and brought the Shepherd mutt back from his stay in the Rangers' headquarters, the scruffy animal barking to show his unbridled joy at seeing his master again. In his excitement, he puts his paws to her midriff despite being trained not to, slathering what he can reach of her with kisses amid her laughter.

It's a funny dance to witness, even more amusing when she takes hold of his front feet and gently sways him around with her. He hops about in the comical way of dogs, ears perked and tail still wagging, following where his front is directed. She lets him go, waves to Boris in thanks and promises to meet him later at Nikolai's, and leads the jovial trotting Jaeger back toward home.

She'll mend the holes he accidentally pulled in her knit sweater later, when they have both properly reacquainted and the Brahmin have been consulted. To Hell if they can't handle the excitable dog's presence; he follows her everywhere he is allowed. In the tunnels of the Metro, that leaves very little he isn't.

* * *

 **A/N** : Will be writing these out in second-person because that's not a style utilized enough.  
These'll be pretty intermittent without much order to when they'll be posted up, since I already have an every-day set running for another fandom of mine. They'll also be a variety of lengths, from super-short microdrabbles to possible full ones.

Enjoy.


	2. 002 Treat

"Every time I hear somet'ing about a bar fight in Polis, I can expect you to be hiding in mein apartment."

Jaeger has absconded with the cot, watching in intrigue as his master administers another dab of iodine-soaked cloth to the conman's bleeding brow. Bourbon draws a sharp breath at it, wincing the opposing eye.

"Oi! That stings!"

She snorts at him. "Proper retribution for breaking Nikolai's nose ven he tried to break it up."

"I said I was sorry, alright? I didn't even know I hit him!"

The cloth is pulled away, a scrutiny of the wound given before she begins on a few other minor cuts on his chin. "You're lucky you von't be needing stitches, you know. Ze hell happened out zere, hm?"

"What is there to tell? It was sort of a usual thing that happened." The steely silence and icy stare as she pushes the cloth mercilessly against his torn skin is enough to loosen his tongue more on the details. "Ow! Okay! Someone said I owed them money, and you know me! I get personal details muddled!"

"Purposely muddled, I'm sure."

"Anyway. So I told them to get lost because I didn't remember them and the next thing I know, I'm on the floor fighting back. Apparently, it roused the whole bar into it and I might have hit the barkeep…"

"Nikolai."

"Yeah, him. You know, making someone with a possible concussion remember things is cruel and unusual punishment. What do they teach you in that Ranger training, eh?"

A sly smile crosses her face at it as she hands him a cool brick wrapped in a stained rag for his shined eye. "How to torture concussed conmen into spilling the beans. You're going back in the morning to apologize to Nikolai."

"I knew it…" He holds the makeshift compress before giving her an exaggerated pout. It's more comical to her now with his face banged up. "What if I just skipped town, persay, and let it all blow over that way."

"Do zat und I'll personally send Jaeger after you vit' un iodine bomb." The Shepherd mutt perks his ears at the sound of his name, Bourbon watches the dog warily before huffing and flopping back in the ratted old chair.

"Fine. You win. But I'm stealing the cot tonight."

"Zat's fine. Oops recommended me a new book, so I'll be reading zat instead."

"If I didn't know better, I would say you and that Librarian were starting a book club."

She shrugs, getting ready to head off to the teahouse for a new batch with the dog jumping off the cot and at her heels. "Und vhy not. Zey keep much better, not to mention more intelligent, company."

"Oh." It takes a moment for his banged up brain to register the insult she has just dealt him. "Hey!"

* * *

 **A/N** : because they are the best of friends


	3. 003 Sand

"Veirdest t'ing happened in ze Library a couple days back."

She's sitting at the counter this time, Jaeger laying patiently at her feet with the occasional huff of wanting attention.

"Yeah?" Nikolai asks, patting the dog's head every chance he gets. The thick tail thuds audibly on the floor. It's not that hard to make the Shepherd-mutt happy. "What sort of antics go on up there this time."

"Caught Aha out und about, off-property."

"What? I thought Librarians never went passed the old front courtyard." A bottle of the swill they call vodka down here is placed next to her, complete with a tumbler, as she recounts the rest.

"It gets veirder. I follow it in, und realize it's trailing somet'ing vhite. Pick it up, it's grainy. It's got sand."

"Sand."

"Ja. Like … beach sand. It's so strange, vhere vould it get zat kind of t'ing?"

Nikolai gives her an odd look as she lights the cigarette she's held in her jaws for the last few minutes. "Better question is, what's it using it for."

"Probably ze plants." she replies without skipping a beat. "Zey like to cultivate plants zey find. Bring zem back to ze inside of ze Library und grow zem. Hell, I found Shit excavating a tiny sprout ze ot'er veek before taking it in vit' him." She inhales, puffs, and stretches. "So ja. Von't be going back for a veek at least; if zey're feeling in a nurturing mood, best leave zem to it."

Nikolai nods again with a faux understanding. He's not going to try to grasp the concept, but it's interesting to hear that some of the deadliest mutants on the surface can be gentle. It solidifies the primate theory he's heard here and there; his bar does attract all sorts. "All because of sand."

"All because of sand." she mirrors before pouring herself some of the proffered vodka.

* * *

 **A/N** : Just some Nikolai and Volk chatting it up about the surreal sitcom that is the Library. Nothing new.


	4. 004 Salt

For now, it's quiet.

Which is a good thing, since the small group is deep in the heart of the city. They came from Berlin, a fair distance away, and are camped out northwest of here, in Leipzig. Leipzig was just out of the way from where the missiles originally fell, and while it did suffer some repercussions to the strike that missed Berlin barely by some lucky miscalculation, it is still considered a safe space.

Dresden, on the other hand, is not.

They say a rogue missile in the flock lost control and hit the river city on its way from wherever it was launched from, detonating and destroying much of it and leaving no survivors. It's not the first time Dresden has suffered attack, and its grotesque history seemed disturbed with this last one.

Bloody Dresden, the Gates of Hell. There are many names for this bastion of demons, both literal and metaphorical.

Modern Dresden had some of the greatest technological advancement centers in this portion of Germany. The treasures lay untouched, bodies of daredevil Stalkers from all over the country strewn among the rotting bodies of those who lived and commuted there while it lived. It is why they are here now, this small pack from further north, trying to penetrate the ethereal fortress that surrounds the city.

It's not hard to get into the place, but the absence of anything even remotely alive leaves an eerie sensation that's hard to get rid of. It haunts and hounds, the only thing outside this small quartet that denotes the ruins are real being the wind, low and swirling. Like the city is breathing.

All four Stalkers are as quiet as their surroundings, keeping an eye out for anything that may mean them harm. One of them turns a corner, makes a noise of surprise which draws the others to him … and they stop.

It's like the world never changed, glittering buildings with people in the streets. So detailed you could reach out and touch it, but blurred around the edges. Just like that, it's gone again, showing the current state of ruins and dead, broken husks of vehicles littering the road. They've been in here less than a day and already, Bloody Dresden is starting to replay the lives she lost.

The city is angry at the intrusion.

It says it best in the way the wind has suddenly begun to pick up. The living trespassers don't notice that, only the towers of the university on the horizon. Shadows play in their path, vagrant noises of children laughing or traffic in the distance, time and space beginning to collide. The nearer they draw to their destination, the more the wind blows, the more sudden the past starts to flash in and out. Real and gone. Pretty soon, the three Stalkers cannot take a step without reliving some harbored memory of these old city streets.

 _Three_?

The fourth cannot be found anywhere, the remaining three stick close together now and call out for their missing comrade. The wind spits a brief gust, their friend's favored rifle falling over somewhere on the last street corner, and the glittering streak next to it plays horror stories too numerous to what could have happened. They can't do this, it registers now the ferocity embedded in the seams of the concrete and brick. In the rusting bolts and old bones.

Dresden is hungry, disturbed from her sleep by new blood in her streets.

They're running back the way they came, intent on ignoring the image of their friend folded into the crumbling asphalt of the street, twisted as though a dishrag. Thoughts of getting into the university are lost now. All around them, the wind continues to howl, ash rising into corporeal monsters hounding after them.

Something rises ahead, humanoid but stretched long and tall. Its cracked jaws open wide, spilling charcoal chunks to one side, and it lets off an unearthly shrieking noise before bursting into flames. The city flickers again around them, another memory phase. Everything is now engulfed in flames, shrieks and screams of those in long-passed remembrances, bodies running passed covered in fire.

A flaming hand grasps one Stalker's arm, pleading with burnt maw to save them. It's hard to ignore the crisped pointed teeth in the ghoul's face, and it draws an audible scream from him as his two remaining friends are overwhelmed by the weeping and ravenous fire-ghosts as well. Nearby, a half-melted air raid siren coughs into life, a warped aria like a laugh, and a dirge for the newly recruited.

Berlin may recover from the bombings over time. Leipzig, Hamburg as well.

Dresden never will. Her long and violent history prevents her from even considering life as a normal city. For Bloody Dresden, her soil to the bedrock has been well-salted.

* * *

 **A/N** : Let's play a bit with what happened to Volk's hometown this run, shall we? AKA Nightmare fuel…

Dresden is dark and gruesome and very very angry, with her violent history dredged up in the Metroverse bombings. Instead of producing mutants, Dresden became the mutant. And she doesn't like to be disturbed.

Thanks to the friend who reminded me of the 'salt the earth' metaphor.


End file.
